Author's Note: So, this is going to be a quick two-chaptered story. :) This is the first chapter, and you guys will get the next chapter in a week or less. ;D Read and review! Let me know what you think. S2

Thanks: As always to Vena Cava for your awesome comments. Thank you for showing me the light. Writing this has taught me a lot about description. Much love!

Dare: Stay Sane While I Stripby MaeMaes

I sat in his room, like every other typical morning, waiting for him to drag his sleepy butt from the shower—hopefully, in just a towel. Glancing at the digital clock on his dresser, I knew if he didn't get out soon, we'd be skipping breakfast and I'd be driving my beat up Corolla en route to school like it was a Ferrari racing the next Formula One circuit.

"Come on, Pierce!" Shouting at his closed bathroom door, I was about to hurl a pillow when it opened. Said pillow became squashed cotton beneath my hands, held tightly to my chest. Had I been male, the purpose of the satin blue rectangle would have been to hide my…discomfiture.

Pierce stepped out in all his dripping wet, tanned-to-perfection, and sculpted glory—with one towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand, attempting to dry off his hair.

"Jesus, Kens. I'm coming, I'm coming."

If only those words had been groaned at any other moment in his bedroom.

"I'll give you five, then we're nabbing bagels and bouncing. For serious. Five minutes!" I ditched the pillow to grab The Teddy Bear—the one he'd loved since first grade, complete with drool, milk, and only-God-knew-what-else stains. "Or it's off with Dorian Gray's head." Shaking Dorian's plushy body for good measure, I slid a finger across its throat to emphasize my point.

"Do that, and I'll set your entire varsity swimsuit collection on fire." He picked up a matchbox from his desk, grazing a fingernail along the striking surface.

Gasping, I flung Dorian back to the center of his pillowy throne. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would." The laughter evident in his voice was non-existent in his expression. Knowing Pierce, it was possible he'd follow through.

"Fine. I'll call truce. But you're down to four minutes now."

He nodded with his head lost under the towel as he rubbed his hair. The vigorous motion showcased some wonderfully cut triceps, not to mention his abs. And, oh dear, was his black towel coming undone at his left hip?

Leaning forward from my seat on the edge of his bed, I would have Imperio'd the poor boy into stripping off that scant towel, had my name been Harry Potter (or would it be Harriet Potter?). Instead, I had to resort to Staring Hard, and hoping the tiny corner of the towel would unfurl.

I couldn't help it. I knew what I was: a perverted voyeur, a floozy with a penchant for bad boys, a deviant who wanted to toss away all her kid My Little Pony panties and slither into lacy thongs.

And as Pierce bent over, rifling through his dresser's drawers—picking out a white ribbed tank and blue jeans—I couldn't help how my tongue wet my lips or how my hands skimmed the top of his mattress, wishing I was molesting his deltoids, his spinal column, his rump, anything!

If he did this every morning, I'd be getting slapped with a restraining order soon.

As he turned to face me, the towel slid another inch.

I shoved my hands under my butt to keep from reaching over and tugging.

He finally shook out his hair—it looked dry enough with his auburn highlights glinting among the rich brown—and tossed that towel onto his computer chair. Now, if only the other towel would follow suit.

"Uh…" I cleared my throat, dragging my gaze from the muscled V of his lower abdominals to his face. "So, is it going to be cinnamon raisin today? Or the asiago?"

"I've only got one asiago bagel left in the kitchen. I'll take the raisin and you can get the asiago...if you can guess the color of my boxers." Smirking, he pulled on the ribbed tank, following it with a fitted puke-green shirt.

Goodbye, Fabulous Muscles. Hello, Ugly Shirt of the Century.

The way he thought he could snatch away my favorite cheesy bagel was astonishing.

Sliding my legs out from underneath me, I set my feet down on his hard wood…floor. Grinning, I sauntered my way over to him, and relished the way his smirk slowly fell away.

"What're you doing, Kens?" He stood his ground as I inched closer. Any other boy would have backed up into his computer desk with one hand held outward and the other holding on tight to his towel. But, Pierce? Oh, no. This bad boy knew what was coming—no pun intended—and faced it like a man.

"Gee, I don't know." I reached for the corner of his towel that had been baiting me since the moment he'd exited his shower in a plume of steam, flexing his pretty muscles for me to see.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, as if I didn't have the… the ovaries to do anything more than keep my hand on the towel, my knuckles brushing the warm skin of his tight abs.

Looking him in the eyes, I ripped off that towel without a flutter of my eyelashes, and dropped the damp black heap onto the floor.

We always had these silent dare-double-dare games, egging one another on. Although, lately our pride didn't extend into the underwear or naked bodies department, I wasn't about to choose 'Can your car race faster than mine down the neighborhood strip?' or even 'Can you sneak out of more detentions than I can?' over 'Is he or isn't he naked beneath his towel?'

Not giving him the taste of glory I knew he wanted, I kept my green eyes level with his brown ones, and judged his nether regions out of my peripheral vision.

"Blue." With that said, I spun on my heel, and marched for his kitchen. "The asiago is mine! Mine!"

"You tramp, that wasn't a guess. And, what if I'd been naked?" he asked, and I laughed.

"Then I guess we would have been late for school." I turned around to let him see me lick my lips and obviously eye his safely hidden package. "Get some clothes on, and let's get out of here."

Strutting into the kitchen, I shouted over my shoulder, "You've got one minute before I'm leaving your ass to a lonely detention." Grabbing the asiago and cinnamon raisin bagels, I walked out onto his front porch to finish my minute wait and to fantasize about what if. I bit into my prize before beginning.

What if we were dating, and he was in love with me?

Or, what if he hadn't worn blue boxer-briefs beneath that towel?

Or, what if I actually had the nerve to confess my increasingly hormonal emotions for his mouth, which was too full and too sexy for me to ever look at without thinking lewd thoughts, or his abs and obliques, which I knew he worked on by doing hundreds of crunches and planks every night, or his ability to encompass my thoughts, when all I wanted to do was sleep?

Sometimes, I felt like he put on this tantalizing, teasing show every once in a while to keep me on my toes. Lucky for me. If he did it more often my brain would be a pile of pornographic mush.

I mean, how would he feel if I came over, dressed in only my underwear?

Snapping out of my hypothetical dreams, I stared at his cinnamon raisin bagel just as he came banging out of his house.

Oh, what if, indeed.

"All right, let's go. I finished in a minute, so haul your ass to your car, Mackensie." He'd pulled on his jeans and the green Converses I'd gotten him last Christmas when he'd said he wanted red ones.

Smiling down at my red Chucks, I got up. "Don't let the locker room boys hear that, or you'll never live it down." Tossing him his bagel, I pulled out my car keys with a jingle and got into the driver's seat.

"Hah, like they could touch me." He settled into the passenger seat and proceeded to pluck out the raisins to eat them first as I started the car. And this was the image he swore had all the other bad boys at school cowering in corners: an eighteen year-old with a love for raisins and a twelve year-old stuffed animal.

With one palm hugging the gearshift, I began another game. "Six minutes?"

"You wish. I'll bet eight." He grinned around the bagel in his mouth.

"You're on." I revved my '99 Corolla's engine and sped out of his driveway, knowing I'd beat six minutes to school.

He knew I'd be concentrating on driving like a maniac, so I was glad he kept quiet. It would give me time to think up a suitable prize.

As I merged lanes and weaved past slower cars, I wondered: should I make him do cartwheels into the cheerleaders? Or, have him do fifty pull-ups? Or, maybe I'd make him wear his lunch for the rest of the day?

I dumped that last idea since I'd done it several months back. Pierce had walked away, smothered in PB&J and coleslaw, laughing as he stated, "Just because I lose, doesn't mean I can't retaliate." Meanwhile, I'd been left, glaring down at my shirt coated in spaghetti and mashed potatoes. So, no, no food fights.

Perhaps I'd come over later that night with a new dare, decked out in some risqué underthings beneath a trench coat, and let him drool over me for a change.

Whether he'd win that game, though, would be up to him.

Author's Note: So, so, so? :) Please hit that review button to tell me what you liked/disliked, etc.! Or no hot sexy Pierce in the next chapter for you! ;)

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